Turn the Sky
by Sakura-chan79
Summary: There is a different--perhaps more ethereal--magic that takes place during the night. -SS/HG-
1. Full Circle

**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Title: **Full Circle  
**Author/Artist:** Sakura-chan79  
**Theme(s): **#26 - Frozen moment at the first sight  
**Pairing/Characters:** Severus Snape/Hermione Granger  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer/claimer:** Nothing Harry Potter related belongs to me in any way, shape, or form.  
**Summary: **There are seven moments where she stands frozen because of him, and it's the last night that the circle closes. _DH compliant._

* * *

_His eyes were cold back then, something akin to black ice, she thought. _

_That gaze made her stop in her steps, the first time he looked her in the eyes. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled up oh so slightly in a sneer she would come to know so well. His nostrils flared a tiny bit as his gaze settled on her for the first time. She felt a little bit intimidated then because really, how else ought an eleven-year-old girl feel when a full-grown man looks at her like that? _

_The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. For what seemed an age, neither one moved so much as a muscle. Her heart was pounding so loudly against her ribcage that she was surprised he couldn't hear it. Maybe he could hear it; she had no way of knowing. If he could, he certainly gave no sign of it. His eyes remained cold, his face impassive except for the curling sneer on his lips. _

_Those eyes intimidated her so much back then that they made her freeze in place._

* * *

_His eyes were cold back then, something akin to a starless winter night, she thought._

_That gaze made her stop in her steps, the first time he looked her in the eyes, that second year. She knew by then what to expect of him yet even so, she felt terribly inadequate under his unwavering gaze. His lips curled in a sneer almost immediately, and it took all her Gryffindor courage to keep from dropping her head and hurrying past him into the dungeon classroom. She felt so terribly inadequate under his judgmental gaze and really, it's not so surprising: how else ought a twelve-year-old girl feel when a full-grown man looks at her like that?_

_The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. For what seemed an age, neither one moved so much as a muscle. Her mind was spinning so quickly, coming up with all sorts of things he might say and how she might feel when he said them. Was it written on her face? Could he read her thoughts on her face as easily as words on a printed page? If he could, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained cold, his face impassive except for the curling sneer on his lips._

_Those eyes judged her so much back then that they made her freeze in place._

* * *

_His eyes were cold back then, something akin to a frozen lake, she thought._

_That gaze made her stop in her steps, the first time he looked her in the eyes, that third year. She knew by then what to expect of him yet even so, she felt terribly juvenile under his unwavering gaze. His lips began curling into their customary sneer almost as soon as he set eyes on her, and it took all of her strength to stand up at her full height (which, admittedly, wasn't that much, but it was surely better than nothing) instead of flinching and ducking forward as she went on her way. She felt so terribly young under his cold gaze and really, it's not so surprising: how else ought a thirteen-year-old girl feel when a full-grown man looks at her like that?_

_The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. For what seemed an age, neither one moved so much as a muscle. Her legs felt like they were shaking uncontrollably, so much so that she might fall to her knees at any moment. Did he notice that? Did he notice and know exactly why they were shaking so hard? If he did, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained cold, his face impassive except for the curling sneer on his lips._

_Those eyes belittled her so much back then that they made her freeze in place._

* * *

_His eyes were cold back then, something akin to a blizzard night, she thought._

_That gaze made her stop in her steps, the first time he looked her in the eyes, that fourth year. She was ready for what was inevitable of him yet even so, she felt terribly awkward under his icy gaze. His lips began curling into their customary sneer almost as soon as he set eyes on her, and it took all of her confidence to look him right in the eyes. She felt so flustered under his gaze and really, it's not so surprising: how else ought a fourteen-year-old girl feel when a full-grown man looks at her like that?_

_The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. For what seemed an age, neither one moved so much as a muscle. Her palms were suddenly sweaty, but perhaps he didn't notice that, what with all the books in her arms. Surely he couldn't see that. Surely he had no idea that her nerves went so haywire when he looked at her that it made her palms sweaty. If he did, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained cold, his face impassive except for the curling sneer on his lips._

_Those eyes made her feel so awkward back then that they made her freeze in place._

* * *

_His eyes were cold back then, something akin to a winter wind, she thought._

_That gaze made her stop in her steps, the first time he looked her in the eyes, that fifth year. She fully expected it yet even so, she felt subdued under his cold gaze. His lips curled into their customary sneer when she appeared, and it took all of her determination to stand tall and confident under such a gaze. She felt so frivolous under his gaze and really, it's not so surprising: how else ought a fifteen-year-old girl feel when a full-grown man looks at her like that?_

_The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. For what seemed an age, neither one moved so much as a muscle. She blinked a little more often than normal when he looked at her. Was it obvious? Did he notice? Did he care? If he did, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained cold, his face impassive except for the curling sneer on his lips. (That same sneer)._

_Those eyes made her feel so subdued back then that they made her freeze in place._

* * *

_His eyes were cold back then, something akin to a jagged piece of ice, she thought._

_That gaze made her stop in her steps, the first time he looked her in the eyes, that sixth year. She was ready for it yet even so, she flushed pink under his cold gaze. His lips curled into their customary sneer when she appeared, and it took all of her pride to continued towards him with her head held high. She felt so suddenly nervous under his gaze and really, it's not so surprising: how else ought a sixteen-year-old girl feel when a full-grown man looks at her like that?_

_The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. For what seemed an age, neither one moved so much as a muscle. Her breathing was a little faster, a slight bit more ragged than normal. Was it obvious? Did he notice? Did he wonder why? If he did, he gave no sign of it. His eyes remained cold, his face impassive except for the curling sneer on his lips. _

_Those eyes made her feel so silly back then that they made her freeze in place._

* * *

His eyes are cold even now, something akin to obsidian jewels, she thinks.

That gaze makes her stop in her steps, the first time he looks her in the eyes, this seventh year. She is always ready for it, and yet even so, she finds herself feeling cold dread as she returns his gaze. His lips curl so very slightly into their usual sneer at her approach but it takes what little strength he has left to manage even that. It takes all of her self-control not to fling herself over his limp form and really, it's not so surprising: how else ought a seventeen-year-old girl in love feel when the one she loves looks at her like that (and has _always_ looked at her like that)?

The moment doesn't stretch into eternity this time. There is no age left for them, not now. She can feel her eyes welling up with tears; she waves her wand uselessly, calls his name uselessly, but nothing works. It's too late, far, far too late for them now. Her heart was racing, her mind was spinning, her legs were shaking, her palms were sweaty, she blinked too quickly to force away her tears unsuccessfully, and her face became a blotchy red mess from the whole mix of emotions raging inside her.

Does he see all of this, even as he lays dying? Does it mean anything to him as it so obviously does to her? Does he care that _she _cares? Perhaps, perhaps, _perhaps_ he does see it all and maybe, maybe, _maybe_ it means something to him, too. Even though everything she tries is useless (because he's already too far gone, and she's no Healer) he looks to her and _for once in her life_ his gaze is a little bit warm and his sneer is more of a half-smile full of regret for what is now lost.

Those eyes that always made her feel so intimidated, judged, belittled, awkward, subdued and silly oh so long ago now make her feel so full of a sorrowful happiness that she can't quite explain even to herself how much those two small gestures mean to her.

It's his last night and she hates that it must be his last night where everything ends before it's hardly even begun.

* * *

**A/N:** This is a series of oneshots written for the _30 Nights _community on LiveJournal. They may or may not be updated regularily, and may or may not end up containing adult content. Also, there is sure to be non-canon themes and ideas and the like, so if any non-canon stuff is...absolutely horrible to you, this probably isn't the best thing for you. Otherwise, do enjoy :)


	2. A New Beginning

**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Title: **A New Beginning  
**Author/Artist:** Sakura-chan79  
**Theme(s): **007 - First sunlight after the darkness  
**Pairing/Characters:** Severus Snape/Hermione Granger  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer/claimer: **Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling.  
**Summary: **He doesn't use his calendar very often. It is only for marking down the most important of events.

* * *

He doesn't really use the calendar that hangs on his office wall. It is there because every staff member in Hogwarts receives a new calendar at the start of the year. He hangs it up dutifully every year, and he turns the page at the start of every month but it remains studiously blank. In fact, he could probably wrap it and send it off as a cheap Christmas gift (if he had anyone to send anything to) and no one would be any the wiser. He hardly ever touched the thing. It was simply an unremarkable, nearly unnoticeable adornment to his office wall.

If calendars had feelings, any calendar in the possession of Severus Snape would feel totally unvalued and forgotten. It would certainly bear witness to a number of his angry rants and his marking and his meetings with problem students. The calendar would always be there on the side but never noticed.

So, when the thirty-first of October came, the calendar would be pleasantly surprised and very pleased that its owner was finally taking an interest in it. He would take his quill and scratch on a few nearly indecipherable words. A number first, not always legible, followed by _anniversary_, in cramped writing. He would stare at his handiwork for a few moments, and then turn away to ignore the calendar once again.

His current calendar, now turned to March, was only marked up on the last day of October. He had turned each month as they passed but no new days had been marked for anything. No birthdays mentioned, no meetings noted. Nothing at all since the end of October. And of course, if his calendar had feelings, it would be feeling very lonely now.

It was an unremarkable day in March when he stood once more in front of his calendar with a quill in hand. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, perhaps questioning whether or not he should write whatever it was he was going to write. He was torn for the slightest of moments. _Should I or should I not? Is it necessary, must I make a note of it?_ The calendar, biased as a calendar with feelings would be (if such things existed), would say yes.

And then his quill scratched over the page and he made a note on the twenty seventh of the month. He never used his calendar again that year, as though he felt guilty for breaking a habit he had nourished since—well, since the first time he ever received a calendar to call his own.

_March 27_

_The darkness of the once-eternal night has ended; _

_The sun has dispelled the nights of sorrow_

* * *

On the twenty-ninth of March, he led a young woman into his office. By her confident stance, her lack of possessions, she mustn't be a student in for a reprimand. Certainly no student was ever allowed into a professor's office during evening hours for any such reason. Discipline was taken care of during the day, never at night. But here she was, an unknown lady with her professor.

She flitted around his office as he cleared away some of his clutter. She paused in front of his calendar, her bushy hair pulled back so that she had a perfectly unhindered view of it. She turned. "You wrote this?" she asked teasingly, gesturing to the few words he'd written on his calendar two nights previously.

He looked at her coolly and nodded. "Is that a problem, Miss Granger?"

She smiled. "I had no idea you were so sentimental, sir."

He snorted rather derisively. "I am not _sentimental_. I merely make note of particularly important events."

"Then we'll have to make sure that no night is ever one of sorrow."


End file.
